


I can't make her a member of the midnight crew, because she already is one: or, a slightly awkward first date

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Genderbending, Genderswap, Humanstuck, Other, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Droog takes Deuce out to a speakeasy for her first time</p>
            </blockquote>





	I can't make her a member of the midnight crew, because she already is one: or, a slightly awkward first date

**Author's Note:**

> So this request was for human DD with human fem CD  
> I meant to set it in the twenties but it's probably not accurate at all  
> Tell me I'm pretty and my titles could be worse

You’d think at some point, Deuce would stop surprising you. She hasn’t. Sometimes you think she never will. Then again, you kind of stopped holding her to standards. It’s not like she even knows what she’s doing. She’s so dense that you don’t expect anything of her anymore.

When you think of it like that, it makes sense that you wouldn’t expect her to be out speed dating.

When you think of it like that, it makes sense that you wouldn’t expect her to strike up the first casual conversation you two have had in a long time, and you certainly wouldn’t expect it to be enjoyable.

When you think of it like that, it makes sense that you wouldn’t expect her to just know that you couldn’t stop working through all the ‘what if’s in your dreams.

When you think of it like that, it makes sense that you wouldn’t expect her to even consider dating within the family. (That is to say the Family, the Midnight Crew, not her relatives.)

And after all this, you’re still surprised when you pick her up from her apartment downtown and she’s wearing something besides one of those coats you usually see her in. You always thought faux fur and black and white pinstripes suited her, but now that you’re greeting her in red, you’re starting to change your mind.

It makes you pretty nervous, to be honest. You aren’t wearing “work” clothes either, so you don’t know why it surprises you. Maybe she just makes you dumb. That has to be it. Deuce is just making you dumb and nervous as if you’re sixteen and falling in love for the first time.

You think it’s simultaneously the best and the worst feeling in the world.

As you walk together you make no noise save for the click click click of her heels. It’s starting to get awkward, but you don’t know what you could say to ease the tension.

“So, Droog,” she asks. Pauses, bites her lip. Stops when she remembers her lipstick. Rubs her lips together to try to fix it, but you can’t tell that it was ruined anyway. “Wait, should I call you…?”

“Droog.” You feel the urge to lecture her for asking your real name, but her expression tells you she gets it for once. Your tone was apparently harsh enough to shut her up completely.

Hell, maybe that’s why it’s so hard for you to have a decent conversation.

You pull lightly on her arm, enough to drag her out of the way of a couple that probably wasn’t even in the way, and decide to ask “Have you ever been to a speakeasy?”

She shakes her head, hooks her arm around yours, tucks a loose curl behind her ear. “I never go to new parts of town alone, it’s too dangerous. So what can I expect?”

She never goes to new parts of town alone. Because it’s too dangerous. That seriously just came out of the mouth of a woman who has tied men up in chairs and strangled them with their own neckties. You’ve seen her kill men with a single gunshot, you’ve helped her ditch bodies and clean up bloodstains, and she’s afraid of going out alone after dark?

The idea of Deuce being scared of anything makes you want to laugh a little, so you do. “Don’t worry. The place we’re going is classier. Tonight there should be a live jazz band.”

The prospect of live music makes her grin. You realize she’s kind of adorable when she smiles. It’s a warm enough thought to make you smile too, and make you stand a little straighter out of pride for your good plans. You notice her cover her mouth and try to hold back a giggle of her own.

It’s not long before you reach the alley. You’re pretty good at staying inconspicuous, but Deuce is…well, not. She’s looking over her shoulder, all around the street to make sure nobody is watching. You find it hard to stay mad at her. Well, honestly you find it hard to get mad at her in the first place.

“Something wrong?” you ask, just in case someone is watching. She shakes her head. “Great. There’s a shortcut through here.”

You raise an eyebrow, and you watch her brow furrow in slight confusion before her eyes snap wide open as she catches on. You wait for her nod before leading her down the alley. Her hand clutches your arm tightly as she looks down at her feet, trying to make sure she doesn’t step in puddles or potholes hidden in the shadows. Rather than trying to assure her it’s safe, you simply slow down for her. It feels like the more gentlemanly thing to do.

Halfway down the alley, you come to a door that doesn’t look like anything special except for a closed window in the top. If you didn’t know what it was, you’d probably think it was nothing. But when you knock three times, the window opens to reveal a face you’ve seen many times.

He recognizes you. You know he does. But you pinch the brim of your hat with your thumb and middle finger, tip it just so, give the password, and wait for the nod. You feel Deuce’s impressed gaze switching from you to the door as it opens.

You lead her inside to the familiar dark room with the low ceiling and the warm lights, the smell of booze and the sound of saxophones and cellos. You watch your date instead of your feet. As you navigate to a table, you watch her eyes widen, her lips part, her neck twist and turn to take in the scene around you. You don’t bother to look around, except to avoid running into people. This place may be exclusive, but the room is barely large enough to hold the Saturday night crowd.

The pair of you finally reach a table for two pushed up against the back wall, almost in the corner. You pull out a chair for her, and you have to shake her to pull her attention to it. Even after you seat yourself, Deuce continues to admire this place that’s really nothing special to you. It makes you think of a curious child, fascinated by absolutely everything.

Her first words after getting her fill of the setting are “Is every place like this?”

You shake your head slightly. “No, this place is smaller and nicer.” You trust that she’ll understand it’s meant for the elite crowd, the rich and the hip. She nods, and you think on some level she gets it.

Silence falls between you again. At first it’s a little less awkward than the silence before because she’s still intrigued by this place, but eventually it becomes worse because you’re not even moving. You don’t know what to talk about on dates, and she doesn’t know what to talk about with you, and so the silence goes on until a bartender notices the pair of you.

You ask for scotch on the rocks, your usual order. She asks for the same. You’re not surprised, but you are slightly concerned.

You raise a questioning eyebrow at her. She smirks back. “I’ve never been to a speakeasy. Doesn’t mean I haven’t been drinking.”

“So where do you get your alcohol?”

“Straight from the supplier, of course.”

Your orders are simple enough that they’re there at that point. You start drinking, trading information, and you learn a few of her ‘persuasion’ techniques. Since you were never all that good with people, you take note.

Soon enough your glasses are empty and the conversation lulls, and Deuce gets bored again. Thankfully, that doesn’t last long.

Unfortunately, her new idea is to get up and dance.

You refuse at first. “No, no way. Dancing isn’t my thing.” She insists. “I don’t even know how to dance.” She offers to teach you. “No, thank you.” She drags you out of your chair. Her excitement is what makes you cave in, even though you hope she releases you soon.

One of the first things you do is step on her foot.

You apologize profusely, but she only laughs at you. “Here, let me lead,” she says as she guides your hands. It takes two and a half songs, but soon enough she has you grinning and foxtrotting and trying not to burst out laughing as the alcohol gets to your head.

You lose track of time, but it feels like the better part of an hour before the pair of you sit down again and ask for refills. As you nurse your second drinks you start talking about your personal lives – or in your case, lack thereof.

You learn all about her friends who ask her for fashion advice, but laugh at her because she can’t cook. She tells you stories about her family wondering where in the world she makes her money, and pushing her to find a man to marry soon. She admits that she loves gardening and theatre. You start planning a second date to see a show.

Somewhere around halfway through your third drink, you both start trying to find things you had in common. There isn’t much besides work, so you decide to show her your Slick impression. That earns you a laugh that lasts at least three minutes, before she starts imitating Boxcars. Your making fun of the Crew lasts until the end of your drinks.

It’s around that time that you notice Deuce is getting a little redder and a lot louder, and you decide to call it a night before she can’t walk straight. At first you regret it, because you have to see her smile falter into a pout, but she quickly launches into jabs at the Felt that have the pair of you chuckling all the way home.

When you finally do reach her home, you both hesitate. You don’t know about her, but you don’t really want this night to end. Only the knowledge that you’ll see her soon again lets you clear your throat and say, “I had a nice time tonight.”

She smiles, and tries not to laugh. “Me too. Thank you.” There’s a heavy pause there, and neither of you know what comes next, until she says “I’ll see you Monday?”

You nod. “Of course.” But you don’t move away. Actually, now that you’re realizing just how close she is, you don’t really want to move away. But do you kiss her? Should you? Does she want you to? Is it okay to…just kind of…ask?

“Do you kiss on a first date?” The words come out without your permission, but they’re out, and you do end up pulling away a few inches out of embarrassment.

Apparently Deuce isn’t bothered. She smiles in a way that says she thinks it’s sweet. “I do if it goes well,” she says.

You nod again and there’s another pause. You’re starting to sober up pretty quickly as you try to run through the night again. It seemed like it went well. You thought it went well. Did it go well?

She smiles, stands up on her toes, and answers that for you.


End file.
